


Repayment

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ...crickets, Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, M/M, Season/Series 10, mild bloodplay, nothing says Happy Thanksgiving like crowstiel amirite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:45:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley made himself quite clear: Castiel owes him. That night, the demon comes to collect.</p>
<p>--<br/>Coda to Episode 10x03: Soul Survivor. Heavy spoilers for...well, everything, but especially the first three episodes of Season 10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repayment

Castiel waits until Dean is asleep and Sam is starting on his third tumbler of Jack Daniels. Then, he departs. He wishes he could stay, always wishes he could stay. But stillness is a luxury life never grants him for long.

Hannah is waiting in the passenger seat of the Lincoln. She has not moved since their arrival at the bunker. Castiel gave her no reason to, ordering her to "wait here" before rushing to aid Sam and Dean.

Castiel smiles fondly, and a bit sadly. Hannah is like a mirror to his past. Always the good soldier.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," he offers as he climbs into the driver's seat.

Hannah nods. "I understand. They are important to you."

Castiel exhales slowly. Important, yes. And so much more.

He pulls the Lincoln out onto the road, but he does not drive far. A few miles up, Castiel turns into the half-empty lot of The Princess Inn. It is a motel like any other, exterior walls a bit worn. Its yellow "Vacancy" sign flickers in the dark.

Hannah turns towards him with a furrowed brow. "How are you?" she asks.

Castiel sighs instinctively at her concern. "I'm fine."

Hannah squints at this answer, immediately suspicious.

Castiel feels himself smiling again. She is a good soldier, and a fast learner apparently. "I'm truly fine, Hannah, not the...human 'fine' I told you about."

"You need to sleep?" Hannah presses. 

"No,” Castiel replies. He hopes this is enough to ease her concern. “This grace is too new. But...today, tonight, were..." Castiel shakes his head. "I need time to reflect, Hannah. Alone. You don't need to wait for me. If you go on ahead, I'll find you in the morning, and we can-"

"I'm not leaving," Hannah cuts in. "If you wish to be alone, I will get my own room. And I will reflect too." She lifts her head, her even stare a challenge for argument.

Castiel pictures her sitting in solitude, staring at the wall in silent meditation. It is exactly what Castiel would have done before his rebellion.

A part of him feels badly for dismissing Hannah again so soon after the events at the bunker. But he also remembers his times of revelation before his fall, the peace that he found in quiet moments alone. They are fond memories for Castiel, and he can't see the harm in allowing Hannah a few hours of the same.

"Thank you," he says.

Two rooms are booked, and they bid each other goodnight outside the lobby door.

***

Castiel feels weary as he carries himself to his quarters. Physically, his body has not felt this good in months. His fever is gone, as is the rasp in his lungs. The power of the stolen grace shivers pleasantly within him.

But with his restored strength comes shame. Castiel thinks of the tears that clouded Adina’s eyes as she drove her fist repeatedly into his jaw. Were she and Daniel ever a real threat? Yes, they should have been held accountable for the death of their kin. But did any of this violence need to happen? Haven’t they all learned?

Two more lives lost, on top of the thousands already dead by Castiel's hand. The numbers are too great for guilt or grief. Inside, Castiel is cold.

Numb, Castiel unlocks the door to his room. As he closes it behind himself, he lets his eyes close as well. He stands like this for a moment, head bowed and palm resting flat against the door.

“Something the matter?”

Castiel spins, blade drawn.

The King of Hell stands on the other side of the room, dressed in his all-black ensemble of choice. He takes in Castiel's startled expression with a raised brow. “We need to work on your anger issues, ducky.”

The afternoon's events make Castiel falter, but he still tightens the grip on his blade. "What do you want?" he demands.

Crowley sighs with boredom. "Put that away, kitten. I'm here to make peace, not war." He glances warily at the blade before making eye contact again. "Has Dean been restored to his adorable human self?"

Castiel is not at ease enough to re-holster his weapon. But he does take a cautious step forward. "Yes," he replies. "The Mark of Cain remains. But the demon has been cured."

"Cured." Crowley's distaste for the word is evident. "Marvelous." His mouth twitches as he takes in Castiel’s hardened expression. "Come now, Cas. Don't you trust me?"

"Don't ask stupid questions," Castiel mutters.

Crowley snorts. "Charming. I did just save your life, angel. That's worth a modicum of trust... Or respect, at least. Wouldn't you say?"

Castiel eyes him flatly. "Do you trust me?"

But he is finally at ease enough to put away his blade. If Crowley means to hurt him, he is being patient about it. Castiel decides to do the same.

Crowley considers his question. After a moment, he relents with a shrug. "Fair enough. But you can unclench, sweetheart. I'm here for other reasons tonight."

Castiel's eyes narrow. "What reasons?"

"To collect, of course." Crowley strolls across the room and reaches to touch his shoulder. He winds up with air when Castiel jerks away. "I told you, didn't I?" he presses, unfazed. "You owe me. I meant that."

"I don't owe you anything, you ass," Castiel mutters. "You forced that grace on me. I told you no."

"Is that what you told me?" Crowley folds his arms over his chest. "As I recall, you didn't say anything, because you'd just had your ass handed to you by another harp playing cloud jumper. Lovely family you've got there, Cas. Can't imagine what those Thanksgiving dinners were like upstairs-"

"I didn't want your help," Castiel grits. He thinks back to Adina's desperation. "You should have left me there, you should have-"

"Let you die another brave, tragic death?" Crowley rolls his eyes. "Can it with the speeches, sparkles. I'm not in the mood." At Castiel's somber expression, Crowley sighs. "No one will question the morality of the great Castiel, all right? But, between us..." The demon-king's eyes glint. "You were more than happy to open that lovely mouth for me. Just like old times, eh partner?"

Castiel frowns. "Is...that what you're here for?"

"My, Cas, you know how to make a fellow blush."

Castiel glares his disapproval. Unimpressed, Crowley continues. "As you know, I'm not the sentimental type. So I asked myself, 'Self, what could be the harm in engaging in a whim every now and then?'"

"A whim," Castiel echoes, brow furrowed.

"After all," Crowley reasons, "the way I see it, I'm quite the hero."

"Stop."

Crowley smirks. "Oh, I'm serious, angel. I could have driven your own blade through your heart and returned home to confetti and party hats. King of Hell defeats the Almighty Castiel. What an event. My God, the victory-ass alone-"

"That is repulsive," Castiel cuts in.

"…Instead, I resurrected everybody's favorite feathered sidekick. Sent him to the aid of the Winchesters. Now, our little Squirrel is human again, and Moose can sleep soundly knowing Big Brother is tucked warm and safe in his bed. This happy ending was hand-delivered by yours truly." Crowley raises a brow, oozing implications. "I'd say a little gratitude is in order."

"You...did save me," Castiel admits. "But I'm an angel, you're a demon. This doesn't change anything."

Crowley shrugs him off. "Yes, well. It would have been quite nice to crush you between my teeth, but."

Castiel lifts a brow. "But?"

Crowley shrugs again. "Perhaps I'm more sentimental than I'd like to admit."

Castiel frowns too thoughtfully for the demon's liking. Crowley hurries to continue. "Unless, of course, you're saving yourself for the pretty bird in Room 201?" He casts a meaningful look towards the door.

"Leave her be," Castiel says. 

Crowley chuckles. "Ah, so you do fancy the little pixie." He waves a permissive hand. "Fine. Your girlfriend knew better than to cause trouble. She isn't my concern. As long as you keep it that way."

"If she becomes your concern, you'll become mine," Castiel tells him. The warning is clear.

"Oh yes, I'm sure." Crowley is the opposite of worried. "Here's the thing, kitten. I may become your concern if I take an interest in your sweetheart. But you? You're already my concern."

Castiel glares at him - a lovely, righteous little glare. His mouth tightens to a line as he musters up his usual front. Castiel is an angel of Heaven, better than Crowley, yadda yadda. Always the same dog and pony show.

They lock stares, challenging the other to do what God and nature demand of them. Angel and Demon. They have been here so many times before, haven't they?

Castiel is the first to look away.

Crowley takes a curious step forward, lowering his head to capture the errant gaze of the angel. Slowly, Castiel returns to him. His anger is gone, as is his righteousness. The only thing left behind is bone-aching weariness.

Crowley could gloat - oh, could he gloat! What sight could be more gratifying than a world-battered angel?

But Castiel's exhaustion is something Crowley knows all too well. Endless responsibilities, a Heaven and Hell that refuse to be righted. Broken. Dysfunctional. Full of backstabbers and naysayers.

And, worst of all, they continue to be dragged back into this fragile mess of a world. Forever trapped by their bond with these stupid, stinking, emotional nightmares.

The past six years have felt like centuries. They are both tired.

Crowley does not gloat. Instead, he smiles. "Ah. There he is. My old friend."

Castiel closes his eyes. This is the demon's permission to advance.

He runs his knuckles up the front of Castiel's shirt, the buttons ridged softly under his skin. His fingers flatten along Castiel's collarbone and slide under his shirt. They trace the stubbled expanse of his neck to his jaw.

Castiel pulls his hand away, but he keeps it grasped between his fingers. His eyes are a hard blue, frozen with something that is not anger. It is darker than that, more complex.

"Cas, you flirt," Crowley says with a grin.

"Stop talking," Castiel mutters. As he speaks, he inches closer.

"Make me, angel," Crowley goads. "You remember how."

Castiel's conflict is obvious - forever shackled by his damned conflict. But he is also smart enough to realize exactly what Crowley's challenge offers. He wavers for a moment. Then, he closes the space between them and covers the demon's mouth with his own.

Crowley smirks under his lips. High and mighty Castiel, lost to the King of Hell. Just like old times.

But he can only be so smug. After all, this was Crowley's endgame from the start.

Crowley removes the remaining room between their bodies. As good a beginning as this is, fabric shifting in hot friction against each other, Crowley would rather feel skin. He starts on the buttons of Castiel's shirt.

"Did you miss me?" he murmurs.

"Stop," Castiel snaps. Crowley starts to retort, but Castiel grabs his chin and forces him into a kiss before he can make a sound. As much as Crowley hates taking orders, especially from this peach, he can't pretend he does not want what he gets for obeying this one.

Crowley forces his trench coat off. "Damned rag," he growls, before he follows with Castiel's shirt. Smooth, lovely skin awaits his hungry touch.

Castiel shrugs him out of his black overcoat and rushes through shirt buttons. "Designer, pet," Crowley reminds him, only to scowl when the angel tosses his shirt to the floor. Castiel is on his mouth again before he can properly grouse.

Ah well. Ironing his clothes will make a fitting task for one of his lower demons.

Crowley unbuckles Castiel's belt and pulls it loose so he can rip into his slacks. He sits back on the bed and yanks fabric and limbs, whatever he has to grab to get the angel on top of him. It's less than graceful, unbecoming for two creatures of their power. But, whatever. It gets the job done.

Crowley tightens fingers in Castiel's hair and forces his head down so he can feast on his lips. Castiel's hands are at his slacks. Crowley can already feel his body responding. 

"I think I like you needy, kitten," Crowley murmurs. He pulls his lovely fistful of Castiel's hair back and revels in the way the angel groans for him. Pain and lust sing across his nerves.

With Castiel's head raised, Crowley gets access to an expanse of neck, milky smooth and vulnerable to his mouth's greedy attention. He bites the side of Castiel's throat, able to feel his strangled response vibrate under his lips.

"I definitely like you needy," Crowley decides.

"Stop...talking," Castiel forces out. His voice is heavy with arousal. As heavy as the nice erection Crowley feels grinding on his thigh.

The angel picked the wrong demon for this tryst if he wanted a silent partner.

But Crowley throws him a bone. Not by shutting up, but by opening his legs, permitting Castiel's weight to sink between his thighs. 

"I thought I owed you," Castiel says. He is out of the moment briefly, confusion evident.

Crowley almost laughs. What a child. As much life as he’s experienced, he still doesn't _understand_.

"Give it a go, love," Crowley murmurs. "Do a good job, and I might call us even."

Castiel's frown says he still does not get it. But he isn't about to argue with Crowley's idea of repayment. He nips his way through the demon's beard, letting it rasp against his lips.

Crowley's hands, by contrast, burn their way down Castiel's torso. He leaves scorched trails on Castiel's stomach, streaks of blistering pink. Castiel's body arches deliciously beneath his wounding touch.

But it is only when Crowley runs his hands up Castiel's spine that he groans outright. Castiel enjoys the demon's burns, but the sensation is strongest at his back. Because of the wings, Crowley assumes. Castiel never reveals them in his presence; threatened to bury him or some nonsense the one time Crowley asked. But when his back bridges with pleasure, Crowley can almost picture those feathered limbs shuddering beneath his sinful fingertips.

Castiel's skin sizzles with replenished heavenly grace. He could heal the mild wounds he has been given now, with little thought or effort. But Castiel lets his blood coat Crowley's fingertips. He enjoys being broken as much as the demon enjoys breaking him. It is their dirty little secret, one of oh so many.

Crowley brings a blood-touched hand between their bodies, leaving a trail of red streaked across his pelvis. Castiel's breaths are hot against his neck, and Crowley feels him kiss a trail to his ear.

Funny, as Crowley bestows disgrace by tearing Castiel's vessel, Castiel gives him grace in gentle touches. Sweet nothings are not exactly popular for Crowley's species. Their near-human quality makes his eyes roll back with an inexplicable need.

Crowley wraps a strong arm around his waist and urges him down. Castiel does not make him wait. He pushes Crowley's legs further apart, and pressure cuts through the demon's body, weighing him heavily into the mattress.

Lovely indeed.

"Make it a good, hard fucking, angel," Crowley murmurs. He turns his head towards Castiel's with a raised brow of challenge.

Castiel actually laughs. "You're the worst," he says.

Hello. King of Hell. This makes Crowley, quite literally, the worst. What a strange pair they are.

Castiel gives him what he asks for. For all of his tender attention, he knows how to make a body ache from a rough fuck. He knows how to thrust hard enough to smack skin, and how to grip Crowley's cock just the right way in his fist.

The metamorphosis from their first encounter to now is staggering. Crowley thinks back to their awkwardly consummated deal in the back corners of Hell. Just a kiss from desperate Castiel made the angel shudder with shame and fear.

Now, his pet knows just how to stroke the head of his cock, the tip of his thumb teasing across the slit before dragging back down to squeeze around the base. He jerks Crowley in his grasp, urging his cock to rub on Castiel’s stomach as his weight sinks forward again. Crowley grunts his approval, already leaking early drops, which Castiel uses to hand-fuck him more earnestly. What a good student.

Castiel also knows how to angle himself, thrusting straight to the hilt without wasting time. His weight grinds delightfully against Crowley's ass.

"Mmm, kitten," Crowley murmurs. He pushes fingers into the small of his back. "You're getting there."

"Are you still talking?" Castiel sounds amused now. This is not in Crowley's best interests. It means the angel is settling into the position of control. 

This time, Crowley is the one who feels teeth on his throat. The bite is surprisingly painful, followed by the hard suck of lips over the rawness left behind. Crowley hisses, startled by the uncharacteristic sting.

Marking him? How adorable. Crowley considers healing himself immediately, a perfect opportunity to frustrate his feathered friend. But Crowley finds the throb of the swelling bruise to be quite pleasant. He leaves it as is. No harm in humoring the beast every now and then.

Castiel licks through his beard as his hand moves faster between their bodies. He fists Crowley's cock so firmly that Crowley feels his waist jump of its own volition.

Crowley grunts and turns his head. "You'll have to do better than that, won't yo-"

Castiel covers his mouth, which is a totally unsportsmanlike way to make him stop talking. One could even call it cheating!

Crowley fully intends to point this out, as soon as the angel quits tonguing the roof of his mouth... The slow strokes between his lips send blood rushing to the place where his bathing suit goes.

He lets one of his blood-crusted hands curl over the back of Castiel's neck, rubbing through the soft hairs at the base of his scalp. Castiel hums in a low, pretty tone against him; a complete contrast to this precise, well-studied fucking. As much as he enjoys bruising the angel's meat suit, he quite likes getting these little sounds out of him too.

Crowley may be more sentimental than he lets on...

Finally, Crowley manages enough space to protest. "That is totally against the rules- ah, you little shit!" Kissing may be out of bounds, but fucking him _right there_ , well.

As if this isn’t bad enough, the smug prick _stays_ there, right up in his happy place. His balls are pushed firmly to Crowley’s ass, the weight of his vessel straining on Crowley's thighs. Crowley lifts himself towards the pressure, demanding more. Immediately.

Castiel does not budge. “I like you needy," he says instead. Cheeky bastard.

His voice is sandpaper-rough, and his eyes are strange. They are dark with lust, but a blue light has begun to glow behind his pupils. His skin feels hotter against Crowley's, the power of the borrowed grace shivering in its human cage.

Crowley looks him over. Spare drops of blood have left tear marks curled around Castiel's ribs like a spider's embrace.

Crowley lowers his head. He has just enough room to stare between their bodies, at Castiel's hard, blushed cock buried inside Crowley. Castiel draws out just enough to thrust back in, hard and slow. The strike explodes through Crowley's gut. A tremor starts to spread, like the coil of a viper through his veins. 

Only the best for the King of Hell…

Despite his vulnerability, a brilliant smirk consumes Crowley's face. As his demeanor changes, so do his eyes, blinking to a violent red. Castiel stares into them, the blue glowing brighter in his own. Crowley can nearly taste the racing pulse of his pretty boy vessel.

Crowley digs fingers into the back of his neck, leaving possessive bruises in his wake. Castiel's eyes blaze, and his body burns hotter.

Things begin to unravel, limbs and breaths and skin. Until the act ceases to be about bodies. Crowley only sees blue and red. Light and dark.

This is exactly what he wanted. 

Skin is fragile and limiting. But grace and disgrace, good and evil... The clash is agonizingly wrong. Sinful. Blissful.

Impossible to resist.

Crowley jolts with a hiss. Everything is so bright, he can't look for fear of being smoked to ash. Then, the light fades, and they fade with it.

Crowley hears himself murmuring, "There you go, Cas. There you go." Castiel's mouth is on his jaw, a soft, steady pressure.

Crowley decides he likes this closeness far too much to tolerate it for long. He turns to nudge the angel's face with his own. Castiel blinks dazed, satisfied eyes at him.

Crowley glances over his shoulder at the bloodied burn marks on his back. One by one, the wounds stitch themselves together. Clean, fresh skin is left behind, just waiting to be torn again.

But not now. This grace is stolen, which means it is limited. Despite tonight's reward, Crowley does not want to make a habit of this whole 'hero' business.

"You're still the bottom in this relationship," Crowley reminds him.

Castiel chuckles and rolls to the side. His skin is flushed in the aftermath.

Crowley sighs and straddles weary arms over his stomach. He lowers his head to lick away the trail of cum left below Castiel's navel. It's a decent enough excuse to taste his skin again, anyhow. Castiel watches thoughtfully, an arm tucked behind his head.

When he is done, Crowley lies on his side with a groan. His body aches wonderfully, and his head is fuzzy. Surviving a full celestial orgasm isn't child's play, after all.

"Ugh," he mutters. "I've got a Hell to run."

Castiel smiles at the ceiling. "I've got a Heaven to save." His wistful sadness makes something familiar and awful tighten in Crowley's chest.

Damn it all.

"I'll stay an hour," Crowley says. Castiel glances at him with confusion. "PTO's already in. One hour. Then, I resume my duties."

Crowley's eyes narrow with implied meaning. One hour, then he returns to his King of Hell post and everything it entails.

Castiel nods. "One hour," he echoes. "All right." He looks around. "What...should we-"

Crowley cuts him off with fingers in the cleft in his chest. They continue down his rib cage and circle slowly around his navel. 

"Stop talking, angel," he murmurs. "You'll ruin my hour." 

Castiel smiles and lets his eyes close. "Make me," he replies. "You remember how."

Crowley smirks. He traces patiently over the warding tattoo on Castiel's side.

One hour...maybe two, given the circumstances.

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and hope everyone who celebrates had a wonderful Thanksgiving! I'm on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) if you want to say hello ^^v


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